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Notes for a new companion story
Just a notes page on a fiction that dose not yet appear in any game. The more I read back what I've written here, the more it's clear how Dr. Frankenstein was the real Monster. Like wise Polly should not be judged responsible for her state of existence. She is the toxic Fallout of her environment. Proposed companion notes: "Polly Pyro" A troubled young woman with an even more troubling past. "Polly Pyro" puts the full definition of mania in to Pyromania and her related skills. She has potential to be a challenging combatant or a lethally skilled Next Generation companion. Background. As more truth be told, the sadder it gets Borne at home on a Wednesday sometime around the year 2264. Penelope, (AKA, Polly), O'leary's birthday was just the beginning of her woeful days. By sad coincidence, the only doctor for a hundred hellish miles with skill enough to deal with the sudden medical complications was the same woman who to quickly gave up her own life in the act of birthing "Polly". The town, for the most part quietly mourned the loss of Dr. O'leary, while some few others just abandoned the site as if it were no more than a bog side village that no longer promised waist land health care. With the death of Doctor O'leary, Mr O'leary just fell into his chem research. He had considered his wife as a partner in what he saw as joint research, but with out her bright leadership he got lost. Always looking for more plant and mutant extracts. He told himself it was the best way to honor the passing of his wife. * Even he knew it was a selfish lie. Mr. O'leary just wanted an excuse to get away from his own baby. He blamed Polly for killing his wife. So contrary to everything his wife ever stood for Mr. O'leary's spent a small fraction of his wife's savings to purchase a slave to care for poor Little miss Polly. The rest he squandered seeking ever more exotic components to test on him self. The more he told himself he was doing it "FOR SCIENCE" the deeper he fell into addiction and addiction fed his grief for a lost wife and a resentment for the child he saw as the one who took her life. *Early on Mr.O'leary became more and more angry as all the family money continued to hemorrhage and even more villagers moved on. Beating his female slave and intimidating his beautiful daughter soon became the favorite pastime for Mr. O'leary as his homemade chems and ever increasingly cheaper quality of alcohol products began to disappoint the few locals that remained paying customers. Mean wile, the whole of their village became little more than dwellings for an ever more collapsing community. Even at 5 years of age, sweet, Innocent little miss Polly was a bright child, full of love and wonder for all the world. Her slave mistress taught Polly the basics of reading and writing but in no time sweet Polly was soon reading not only her own original child like stories of hope and glory but texts from her mothers far more advanced small library of skill books relating to science, medicine, repairing old tech, theoretical science and survival techniques... * Most of all things little Polly just enjoyed learning, her favorite topics where books with detailed illustration relating to melee weapon techniques, improvised explosives and cooking booth, gourmet and campfire survival style. Little Polly was a treasure for the post apocalyptic world and her slave nanny saw it all to well. So one night she attempted to sneak Polly away from her abusive father but they were captured near a small hole in the still gated communities perimeter. The slave was beaten and they booth were dragged back to the O'leary's house where Mr. O'leary, obviously wishing to save face claimed the slave had drugged him, robed his house and kidnapped his daughter. After the slave was tortured for three days, the whole town turned out with young Polly in tow to witness the execution at the neighborhood's cul-de-sac's center. * Polly's birth mother had died just five years and some odd months earlier. Now she would be forced to watch as the only mother she ever knew was bound, gagged and burned at the stake to the joyful cheers of her neighbors. It was only at the end when the gag melted away that the child could here the breathless gasps for mercy from the only living person to ever show her love and even this was all but completely muffled by the courses of the self perceived pious mob. As years past sweet miss Polly O'leary became a slave in her own fathers house. She, cooked, cleaned tinkered in the shed to build and repair small appliances to make there life better and most of all she took his beatings with out complaint and always sought to prove her unconditional love. The crafting of a psychopath Little miss Penelope O'leary could have been anything, a great Doctor, an inventor, scientist, a culinary artist or a compassionate leader in most any field. From the time she was a mere child growing into a creative, well spoken tween, her graceful brilliance only became more evident. She was a beautiful, free spirited young girl with raven hair and compelling bight blues eyes, just like her mother before her. She had such gifts and yet those very strengths, those things that made her so much like the woman who died giving her life, it was those same traits that bore into her fathers soul with an ever growing resentment. Yet still Polly doted on her father, the more he denied her affection, the more adoringly she worshiped the sound of his voice no matter how cruel and cutting his remarks to her were intended to be. The years had passed, her father's grief at the loss of his wife was now an excuse too long ago exhausted. * While sorrow had been a contributing factor to her father's depression. It was at last his own self centered nature and escapist chem experimentation that lead to his addictions and resulting bouts of pure madness that now controlled him. Mr. O'leary was a monster of his own creation. He stole way to the shed and bolted the door from the inside for half a week and when ever Polly approached, ever so gently, lovingly tapping on the door to offer him food and fresh water he would kick at the wall demanding "GET TO YOUR BED BITCH !" "I'm working on your birthday present"... * It was the whispering hint of a present that disturbed sweet little Miss Polly the most. When her father finally came back into the house, he just stood there in the living room, still wearing his tool belt, his coveralls now smeared with newly dried lead base paint, a screw driver in his right hand and an odd shaped thing wrapped in a oily shop rag in his left. He waited as Polly cautiously entered, timid as a fawn, barely aware of a near by predator. He turned his eyes to her and commanded, "Come her child." Hands submissively crossed, with her head bowed down Polly did as she was told with a reply of "Yes Daddy".. Mr. O'leary held her there in his cold gaze for a long moment before again demanding, "You know what today is child." Polly meekly shook her head and said "No Daddy, I don't. I'm sorry Daddy." Mr. O'leary's voice soften for a moment as he quietly lamented "You look so much like her, so much like her.." and then he said something he had never said to Polly before, he said "Look at me." Polly looked up and for the first time in her life she was allowed to look her father in the eye. Her stunningly bright and innocent blue eyes widened at the sight as she desperately searched the face of this man she so unconditionally worshiped with all her heart and soul. This was the first time her eyes were allowed to meet the gaze of her own father. Mr. O'leary spoke in a distant almost absent minded tone as one might use when speaking aloud to them self, "Has it really been thirteen years?".. Poor hopeful Polly assumed he was actually speaking directly to her face without shouting, without anger in his voice, without immediately "showing her, her place" with the back of his hand or a taste of his boot. Pitifully naive and trusting Polly could not recognize, she was looking into the eyes of a demon borne of self abuse. Foolishly she some how still expected love when she dutifully, even joyfully inquired, "What Daddy ?, What was thirteen years ago?.. Daddy ?, "Oh please, please do tell me Daddy?.." "I would so love for you to tell me Daddy!" It was then she watched in horror as the milky white washed away from his eyes and the blood shot veins spread with crimson rage his lips curled back and the stink of Hell billowed out of him as hot breath and foaming spit fell upon her face when he screamed, "THAT WAS THE DAY YOU KILLED HER!!" With the handle of his screwdriver he then struck Polly to the ground and continued to shout, "MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE!!" He then fell upon her with the full weight of his knees pinning her body and arms to the floor. "TODAY IS THE SAME DAY YOU MURDERED YOUR MOMMY !!", he further would rant as he unwrapped his present form it's oily cloth trappings. "It's your BIRTHDAY!!" With no breath in her lungs Polly wished she could scream as her mind resounded "OH DADDY I'M SORRY.." "PLEASE DADDY " "I'M SORRY !!" DADDY, DADDY.. I'M SORRY DADDY !!! I'M SORRY !!!! Banishing Hope His vengeance at hand, Mr. O'leary mercilessly taunted his victim, his child, his own daughter on her thirteenth Birthday. His gift was pure perversion of nature and morality! Hand crafted, waist land hardwood, a two piece baby doll mask. He now clacked the jaw and face plates together making them click and clank mocking speech in wicked puppetry to match his harsh words.. "I can no loner bear to look at you", "You looking soo much, so much like HER!" "So I made us booth A PRESENT !!!" He then slapped the jaw piece upon her's and with cruel determination slowly, slowly set to his craft humming Happy Birthday to you as his tools pierced flesh, bone and raw nerve, he found himself amazed at how little she struggled under his torturer's grip. How could he know even with these acts of pure evil, with her blood already seeping deep, soaking and staining the raw wood inside the mask, he could have no idea that even still she loved him like a dark God punishing it's most devoted worshiper. Through it all Polly's bright ghostly blue eyes shined out from behind the mask. He wanted her to scream, to thrash out, to fight, to force him to kill her! When the hate filled thing was at last fastened to her skull at temple and brow his hands began to tremble.. To late to stop himself, Mr O'leary continued his labor even as she watched him with those eyes so like the woman he loved, and he tried so to blame her "YOU DID THIS!.." "It's your fault" "YOU KNOW THAT.."YOU know that.." "Don't you,.. Polly ?.." The task took hours and he still never knew that even as he hand cranked the final wood screws into her brain her only thoughts where, "Yes Daddy, Yes Daddy, Polly is your girl." "Polly will learn..." She thought it again and again until mercifully her consciousness fled from her entirely and she fell limp. For two days and three nights Mr. O'leary sat sleeplessly watching over the body of the last person on earth to have so much as cared if he lives or died. Undeniably confronted with depths of his sin, on the third day he began to morn at last and he bemoaned his own wretchedness aloud, ""Oh what have I done?.." "Polly,.."Polly please forgive me Polly?" "OH GOD! Polly forgive me!" Then suddenly he heard her all too familiar voice again "Yes Daddy." He doubted his whits but there she sat bolt up straight, wearing that accused mask, yet speaking to him as if it where any other Sunday mourning "Yes Daddy, Polly is your girl." "Polly will learn." It was literally far to much for him to stomach as he vomited uncontrollably, staggering out side and stumbled back into his shed escaping once more into a collection of chems and slightly toxic bathtub gin. Final Decent Time lost all meaning to Mr. O'leary's polluted brain and thanks to his wood screws dear little Polly was far beyond such concerns as well. It could have been another lost day under the influence or it might have been a week, it's not like his rock gut poison, was the only supply in town, his customers knew he was an alcoholic junkie, if he'd not answer the door they'd just head down the block to get their fix. Most every one had a little some thing on the cooker at various stages of brewing. Still when Mr. O'leary did rise to a state that counted for him as consciousness he discovered he was no longer in the shed, he was in his bed, wrapped in clean sheets with fresh flowers on his nightstand and the smell of something wonderful wafting on a breeze from down stairs. He rose to find his best clothes not in a moldy ball behind the door but clean and ironed with crisp pleats, his socks where darned and even his boots had been brought to what passed for a waist land spit shine with a mixture of oil, ash and black clay. It all seemed like a glorious fantasy. The shutters and windows were all opened wide to let the light in. Mr. O'leary thought for a moment "the house had not seemed like such a home since.." "Since her !!" It struck him like a lightning bolt, what he had done.. In this squalid community of hypocrites he knew his neighbors all to well, if they saw what he had done to his daughter, he knew they would burn him as they did his slave so many years ago.. Panicked beyond the ability to speak he bolted down the stairs, his mind screaming "WHERE THE HELL IS SHE!!" "OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD WHAT IF SHE'S FOUND!!!".. All traces of regret, remorse or responsibility for his actions where swept away in an adrenaline rush of guilty fear at being caught. He tore about the house, room to room, slamming shutters and ripping curtains closed. When suddenly there was Polly in the kitchen, quietly setting a lovely table despite the jerky motions of her limbs. Mr. O'leary did not hesitate to notice he just bowled her over with a flying tackle and demanded of her "WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?" "DID'T YOU HEAR ME CALLING GOD DAMN IT !?!".. *Clearly non pulsed, Polly simply looked up from the kitchen floor where he held her painfully pined and answered in an all to calm, even tone, "I have been here Daddy." "I am sorry Daddy." "I did not hear you Daddy." I would have answered Daddy." "I am sorry Daddy." "Polly is your Girl." "Polly will learn.." All he could say was "What the Hell?.." He began to realize he'd broken something in her mind but no, there would be time to worry for such things later. His crime had not been discovered yet and he intended to keep it that way. There was a chance for him, and for her, if it worked.. He might keep her hidden, well out of site.. Before the great war of 2077 the entire neighborhood had been an affluent, private lake side properties, gated community. The large yards would help to keep prying eyes at a distance from three sides and no one would bother trying to cross the boggy remains of lake St. Clare in the back with is methane gas erupting pockets between growing islands of peat moss and sucking pits of quick sand like mud. There were only the rarest naturally occurring slippery rock paths that more often than not had lead the adventurous to a quick boggy death. It was a fortifiable location. He'd nail the shutters closed and padlock all the doors, no one would suspect his added security, the world was a dangerous place after all. It was the best plan he could conceive of. It was a plan he could improve on but for now Mr. O'leary would start by violently dragging his daughter into the basement. So it went Polly would spend years locked away in a dimly lit basement only being let out long enough to cook and clean. However being treated like an unloved dog, out of sight led to a few less beatings and she had her work bench. She had always been creative before, yet as it turns out, while her crude lobotomy had crippled her social skills and most of her higher reasoning functions it had in some other ways made her a bit of an idiot savant. She now had an ingenious affinity for successful tinkering unlikely devices and what she could do in a kitchen would put the best chefs at the Ultra-Luxe to shame. There were of course some close calls, one in perticular, after Mr. O'leary learned he could tell Polly to "Stay put" ' and she actually would not move with no more than a '"Yes Daddy, Polly is your girl, Polly will stay." It seemed a patriarchy paradise until Mr. O'leary went out on a two day bender only to find Polly standing rock solid where she was told to stay in a pile of her own human waists at the brink of starvation and lethal dehydration.. Her first words to him were "Hello Daddy, I missed you Daddy" "Can Polly move now Daddy?" As time pasted when Mr. O'leary would let Polly out of her dungeon to preform her chores he took to studying her in an offhand way as one might observe a bird of pray in a zoo. She had such odd behaviors, where once she moved with the abandonment of child like grace, now her every gesture and action was too quick and deliberate to seem human, She moved as a raptor. Her eyes rarely blinked, she no longer shifted her gaze to see but rather turned her whole head and shifted her body to lock her sight fully on what ever small thing that drew her attention. Most disgusting of all in the lonely chem addled existence of Mr. O'leary, he began to find her odd ways some how alluring. Once upon a time this had been a man of science. Now Mr. O'leary was but a creature of foulest debauchery's instincts. He began to stalk his own daughter watching Polly's every slavish task, delighting in her submissive obedience to his every whim. He watched as she tinkered, he studied her as she cleaned, he salivated as she cooked and he lusted as she bathed. Polly's life from the day of her birth had been a cruel series of insults upon injury and unforgivable abuse, so it should not be surprising that less than half a week from the eighteenth anniversary of her mother's death that a final nail should be driven into the casket that still held the remains of Polly's child like innocence trapped in her own already broken mind. The Master of his house chose his moment... Deep into the January predawn hours Mr. O'leary crept down into his daughters cell and fell upon her with sudden violence.. He took her just as he had the nameless slave that he had burned at the stake years before... Polly was his property and Mr. O'leary took no guff from a slave, so when when the first time in her life, poor Polly O'leary found voice enough to beg "No Daddy" "PLEASE..?" "Don't hurt Polly?.." "Polly is.." Polly is your girl''!'' ".... Her words fell into a deep well of rage and self loathing. Polly O'leary had dared to say "No!". The breach of duty had at last met boiling point. No matter the sinful abuse that had been raked upon her before, burying Polly's childhood. Pure, was the rage of Mr. O'leary's sudden impotence and he meant to reclaim the illusion of his masculinity with repeated blows of fist and boot until he was sure his daughter could never say no again.. Sure enough as Polly again fell limp under the fell strokes of her father's unholy abuse, Mr. O'leary found sick, self reward in the seams of his own pants before zipping up and stumbling out of Polly's prison to collapse. Written by SaintPain first draft SaintPain→ That was broke afore I got here." 05:34, October 18, 2012 (UTC) Category:Members Fiction Category:Fiction & Art